Harry Potter and the Hidden Truth
by Koinaka
Summary: A secret uncovered. A terrifying bond awakened. Life, as Harry knows it, will never be the same.
1. Preface

Author's Note: Here it is, the first chapter of the rewrite. It's similar, in many ways, to the first version, but there are some specific differences. Any thoughts?

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything involving Harry Potter.

Warnings: May contain Spoilers for HBP.

Harry Potter and the Hidden Truth 

By _Koinaka_

In following him, I follow but myself;  
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,  
But seeming so, for my peculiar end;  
For when my outward action doth demonstrate  
The native act and figure of my heart  
In complement extern, 'tis not long after  
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve  
For daws to peck at. I am not what I am.

_Othello Act 1, Scene 1, Line 56-65_

PREFACE

The air around him was heavy with the scent of death; the fog so thick he could barely see the brilliant flashes of red and green lights as the curses flew past him. The only sound he could hear were the shrieking words echoing through his head.

_"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

His mother begging, pleading for not her life, but his. She'd sacrificed herself for him - and how had he chosen to repay her? By surrounding himself in darkness, in the madness that now lay in front of him. The mindless killing, the violence, the power... causing her sacrifice to become null and void.

He was hidden underneath his invisibility cloak moving away from the lingering fog, away from voice in his head. His feet moving numbly, mechanically. He knew where he was going - to whom he was going. He no longer attempted to fight it. The draw was much too strong, and he was far too weak. Pain seared through his forehead, but he'd grown accustomed to it - welcomed it even. It kept him grounded, kept him focused.

He scanned the area out of habit, still - even now - in denial about his reasons for coming tonight, his reasons for disobeying a direct order. He hated the man, loathed the man, and he was quite certain the feeling was absolutely mutual, as much as he protested, as much as the Headmaster had protested while he was still living, but Harry knew. Twenty years of hatred did not end because of a little blood. Yet here he was, standing on the battlefield, thinking not of fulfilling the prophecy as he surely ought to be thinking, but how to _save_ his life no matter what the cost.

He was pulled to the side by a pair of strong hands. Hot air tickled his neck as the offender pressed against him.

"You shouldn't have come," a drawling voice hissed in his ears.

Harry nodded at the whispered words before pulling himself free and pushing his way through the crowd that had gathered around the two men.

The two men in question moved with the grace only the two deadliest of predators could boast, each hunting their prey. On and on it went, neither one of them gaining much ground, but neither of them losing ground either. It was only a matter of time though, Harry knew. Lord Voldemort was a master dueler, after all, and although Snape himself was an excellent duelist, his stamina would never compare to the Dark Lord, who was now more immortal than any other man alive.

Voldemort whipped his head around to where Harry stood, rage etched onto his every feature. It was only a moment, _just a moment_, but Snape took advantage of it, and Harry watched in horror as Severus Snape raised his wand, the green light beginning to eminate from it's tip.

_"Avada_- " he began.

Time stood still as Harry threw himself still covered by his invisibility cloak in front of the on-coming Killing Curse.

"_Kedavra_," Snape finished coldly.

Green light flashed in front of Harry, and then he knew no more.


	2. Chapter One

Author's Note: Here it is, the first real chapter of the rewrite. It's similar, in many ways, to the first version, but there are some specific differences. Any thoughts?

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything involving Harry Potter.

Warnings: May contain Spoilers for HBP.

Harry Potter and the Hidden Truth 

By _Koinaka_

In following him, I follow but myself;  
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,  
But seeming so, for my peculiar end;  
For when my outward action doth demonstrate  
The native act and figure of my heart  
In complement extern, 'tis not long after  
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve  
For daws to peck at. I am not what I am.

_Othello Act 1, Scene 1, Line 56-65_

Chapter One  
Strange Happenings

The room was utterly silent. The men before him, all dressed in robes of the deepest black with bone white masks upon their faces, stood tense and alert. He hadn't said a word in the ten minutes since their arrival, but they knew something was terribly wrong, and as such, they were quite justified in their apprehension. Angry was not a state that bode well for them, even if they were not the cause of said anger. The Dark Lord's temper was a terrible thing to behold.

"Mulciber," said the Dark Lord, his voice was soft and alluring, a most dangerous sign.

The man in question came forth and kneeled before him. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Have there been any changes in Little Hangleton? Any… ah… visitors?" he queried.

Mulciber blanched and became visibly shaken, but the Dark Lord continued quite undeterred. "This is quite the conundrum, is it not? You do not know if there were any changes or visitors in Little Hangleton because you were not where you ought to have been last night, were you? Don't be frightened, my _faithful_ servant. I only wish to know the truth." His voice was compelling, an attempt to assure the target he was in no danger when, in fact, quite the opposite was true. It was – as usual – effective.

"I did go to Little Hangleton last night, my Lord, 'course I did…" the man trailed off.

"Yes?" prompted the Dark Lord.

The man hesitated, took a deep breath and began to speak again, his voice but a mere whisper. "But I left. Everything seemed to be in order… and I had a meeting with a … business partner… so I left and returned several hours later. Nothing was amiss, my Lord."

"Am I to understand that after _I_ entrusted you with the caretaking of a precious item – a _priceless_ item – you _left_… to meet with a business partner? Surely there is no other in your life as significant as _me_? Surely my… _requests_ come before all others, do they not?"

"Yes," breathed the man. "Of course you come before all others."

"And yet you saw fit to _leave_ when I gave you specific instructions?" asked the wizard as he arched an eyebrow.

"I didn't think…" the man began.

The Dark Lord cut him off. "That, Mulciber, is evident," he replied coolly.

"It's just a rutty ol' house though, isn't it? Can't be nothing of value there, practically falling apart, it is," muttered the man beneath his bed.

"Some things are not always as they seem, are they, Mulciber? Because this… business partner of yours was really a member of a certain… _order_, wasn't he? A certain Mundungus Fletcher to be exact, isn't that correct? No need to lie to your _master_ now, Mulciber… I know the truth, I _always_ know the truth." A thin pale finger tapped the side of his head. "I can see every thought in your pathetic little mind. There is nothing hidden from me - _nothing_. Now, what was so important that you would disregard a direct order? I want to hear you say it aloud."

The Death Eater hesitated. "Mungungus said he had some… items… he thought I might be interested in acquiring, my Lord. Items that might be useful to me … to _you_. Said he nicked 'em from the old Black estate," he mumbled.

"Ah, yes, money. So you met with him? And what was the result of this…ah… meeting?" A minute passed and still the man didn't answer. "Well, answer the question! What was the result of this meeting? What items did he have that may be of use to us?" snarled the Dark Lord. "Because _certainly_ that is the only way your actions could have been justifiable. Do not keep us in suspense any longer, Mulciber - tell us what treasures you brought our cause from the House of Black."

Beads of sweat gathered on the man's forehead. He swallowed once, twice, three times before speaking again, misery in his voice and body. "None, my Lord. The items were rubbish," he said, reluctantly. "But I returned to find everything exactly as it was before I left," he finished.

The Dark Lord approached the man and ran his wand down his cheek. "No, not _exactly _as you left it. Something very important to me… something very _dear_ to me... was taken that night."

The man shuddered. "My Lord… please…."

The dark wizard flicked his wand lazily and watched as the man began to convulse. A smile spread across his face as the screaming began. He turned to face the other Death Eaters. "Remove this _man_ from my sight at once. I think a night or two in the dungeon will do the trick... if he survives, that is."

He turned back to the screaming Mulciber. "Please... my Lord... _mercy,_" gasped the man, his voice hoarse and raw. "My wife -- _my children_ --"

A malignant smile spread across the Dark Lord's face. "Do not worry; you'll be seeing your family shortly. I've sent Greyback to collect your children. I trust that will be acceptable to you," he told the now struggling man.

"_No!_ You mustn't!" The Death Eater was now fighting the rather large and formidable Crabbe and Goyle as they removed him from the room.

"But I truly _must_. You've taken something precious to me, Mulciber, it's only fair that I take something equally precious to _you_."

"I didn't take it, my Lord, I swear. Have mercy! Please, oh God, have mercy -- not my _children!" _The man was still babbling inanely when the door slammed closed with a resounding thud.

Crimson eyes swept over the room before settling on Lucius Malfoy. "Lucius, I leave him in your… somewhat capable hands… as this is your manor, and who better to take care of our... _visitor_... than our gracious host?"

"Of course, my Lord. I live to serve you," the elegant blonde man murmured.

The Dark Lord nodded. "See that that continues to be the case, Lucius. I've had enough of your … failures."

Lucius winced before bowing deeply and exiting the room.

Miles away, a raven-haired boy was jarred awake by the sudden influx of emotion. Sweat beaded off his forehead, mingling with the blood that now dripped from his lightning-shaped scar. He fell back against his pillow, his chest heaving and his heart beating frantically as he tried to calm down. Several minutes later, his breathing had returned to normal, and he was able to contemplate the rather disturbing vision he'd just awoken from.

In the three weeks since the beginning of his summer holiday, the dreams occurred nightly without fail. However, unlike the visions that plagued him throughout the previous school year, the majority of these dreams were of no consequence. Voldemort, it seemed, had decided not to use their bond any further after the possession debacle in the Ministry. Unfortunately, this hadn't stopped the visions from coming. In fact, if Harry stopped to think about it, these visions were quite different from the ones he had before. That is to say, they were more realistic, more vivid, than ever and sometimes, Harry would wake up suffering the effects of the Cruciatus curse.

And much like the previous year, Voldemort seemed oddly fixated on something. Though he didn't seem to be sending these dreams to him on purpose, and it wasn't a hallway he dreamed of now, but several objects - an unstoppable wand, a stone, and a cloak of invisibility to be exact - Harry knew that nothing good could come of it. Harry wasn't certain what they were, really, but he knew one thing: he hoped Voldemort didn't ever find them. If Voldemort had access to an unstoppable wand, no prophecy in the world would be able to save the wizarding world. What was this ring, then? The one that had gone missing? It must have been very important to Voldemort because never had Harry felt such anger in his entire life.

That brought him back to the thing that _Harry _was fixated on: the prophecy. Just thinking of it left a bitter taste in his mouth. How did Dumbledore expect _him_ -- Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Absolutely-Average -- to kill the most dangerous dark wizard in nearly a century? Not even Dumbledore could stop him -- _Dumbledore_ -- and there was no way that Harry was anywhere near as talented or powerful as Dumbledore. No, it was just as he'd told Hermione before. Yes, he had stopped Quirrell in first year, and then Tom Riddle the next, and of course, he'd survived the graveyard incident, but not because Harry, himself, was exceedingly powerful. He never would have done _any _of that without help or, as he'd been told before, sheer dumb luck.

The Boy-Who-Lived sighed and reached over to his nightstand to retrieve his glasses. The cheap alarm clock on the same nightstand indicated it was just before noon, but there was no light coming from the window. Harry quickly got out of bed to confirm his suspicions – rain. Brilliant. Not that he had many places to go, but any place was better than staying inside. He yawned and absently rubbed his forehead.

He thought briefly about returning to his bed, but there was no use in attempting to go back to sleep now; he was already awake, so he went to the bathroom and completed his morning routine before going downstairs for what would now be lunch. Last summer he would have never dared sleep till noon, or even attempt to fix himself lunch, but since arriving home, his muggle relatives had given him a wide berth. They hadn't wanted to, of course, but after the talking down the members of the Order gave them and the brilliant display of accidental magic that occurred when Uncle Vernon attempted to relocate Harry back into 'his cupboard', they said little to nothing to him at all. He was to generally stay out of sight and they would continue to pretend he didn't exist, but beyond that there were no expectations. He'd discovered that even if he didn't stay out of sight, they were too terrified to rebuke him.

Harry furrowed his brow confusedly at his reflection in the bathroom mirror before leaving the bathroom and heading downstairs. Lately, Harry had noticed his appearance had been changing. Nothing overt, just... his facial features were becoming... finer, softer somehow, a bit more feminine, he thought -- or, he supposed, rather like his mother. His jaw was no longer quite as square as it had been even a fortnight go. He'd written to Hermione about this as well, but she was just as perplexed as he was about the change.

Aunt Petunia and Dudley were watching a television program when he entered the living room. He gave his aunt a nod and smiled briefly as her eyes widened with fear. It was too easy to frighten them; it almost took all of the fun out of it.

It was nice, however, to eat on a regular basis. Not that he wasn't able to eat before, but he always had to wait for Dudley to eat his fill first, or he was being forced to endure another of 'Duddy's' diets. Harry sighed heavily and took one more look over his shoulder before entering the kitchen. He quickly made two sandwiches out of the cold cuts he found in the ice box, grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the table and made his way back up to his room to get back to studying.

Harry was determined that not one more person he cared for would die because of _his_ inadequacies. That, coupled with the pressure from the prophecy, had Harry resolved on one thing: he needed to start taking his studies more seriously. He'd written to Hermione on his first night at the Dursley's pleading for help revising. Hedwig had returned that evening with a small novella on what Harry could do to revise _properly_. According to Hermione, he was a lost cause. Well, she'd not been quite so cruel, but she had stated -- as kind as she could -- that he really ought to begin with his first year books and work his way through to the fifth year books. So that is what he did. He had the time, oodles of time, really, as he was no longer expected to perform chores and he very rarely left the house, so that is what he had done. It was fairly slow coming, but he was up to the third year books now.

He nibbled on the sandwiches as he began pouring through the Defense book from that year. His heart ached painfully. Remus had been his professor, then. The best professor he'd ever had by far for defense, though that wasn't quite a compliment considering the cast of professors. It was a wonder Harry managed to learn a thing in any of his classes that year. What with a mad man -- who, of course, turned out to be not quite so mad -- and the dementors, Harry had been rather busy.

His breath caught in his throat.

_Sirius . _

He felt his godfather's loss acutely. It was absurd, really, as he hadn't known his godfather for a lengthy period of time. He'd spent the first twelve years -- give or take the first year -- of Harry's life in Azkaban, then he spent the next year or so on the run. Harry could count the times that he'd spent more than an hour in the man's presence on one hand, if he were honest, but it was as if he were mourning his parents and his godparent as one entity. His death made theirs all the more real and it was all Harry could do to continue with this farce of a life. Some days were bearable if he didn't think of them at all, but other days, Harry thought he might go mad with the pain of it.

His friends had been very good to him this summer, writing almost daily, but it hadn't been enough. In fact, it made it nearly unbearable. Because of security, their letters never spoke of anything consequential, so they mostly entailed rich descriptions of, at least in Ron's case, his family's antics, and in Hermione's case, descriptions of her summer activities with her parents. It all came back to _that_: family. Which, of course, made Harry think of Sirius as Sirius had been his last chance at having one. The Dursley's despised him, no matter how they treated him. He knew that. So, having them didn't change the fact that he was utterly alone.

The tapping at his window alerted him to the arrival of his _Daily Prophet_. Against his better judgement, and the Headmaster's advice, Harry had obtained his own subscription to the newspaper prior to leaving Hogwarts. He wanted to make sure that he was properly informed of the happenings in the wizarding world over the summer, and he didn't trust the Headmaster to do it, or for him to allow his friends to do it either.

It's a good thing, too, because so much had happened since leaving Hogwarts. Bridges had collapsed killing dozens, muggle villages had been attacked by giants and were now in ruins, many witches and wizards had also murdered and all because of a mad man's whim. The most important event by far, or so Harry thought, was that a new Minister of Magic had been appointed. According to the papers, and one could never really trust them, Cornelius Fudge had been forced to resign after the Brockdale Bridge had collapse. A Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Aurors, had taken his place. Harry wasn't quite certain how he felt about _that_, but he didn't think anyone could be worse than Fudge, really, so that was comforting, at least.

To sum it up: now that everyone was aware that Voldemort had really and truly returned, he was no longer restraining himself. _The Daily Prophet _was full of what they considered useful advice on how to keep yourselves and your loved ones safe, but like nearly everything else, they fell woefully short of being useful.

Harry sighed and tossed the paper aside. Nothing had occurred today at any rate, or that the reporters at the paper were aware of. They didn't know that there was a man had been tortured and probably his kids as well. Who was Greyback, anyways? No one good, that was sure, if the man's terrified expression was anything to go by. That had Harry asking himself again why did Voldemort care about a stupid ring? It just didn't make any sense, and so Harry had no choice but to come to the same conclusion as before. If the ring was important to Voldemort, it meant one thing: it was nothing good.

Thoughts of Voldemort always lead him directly to thoughts of the prophecy, and he was back to where he started. He was a teenage boy. _Just_ a teenage boy with, according to Dumbledore -- who, on everyone's accounts, was more than a bit barmy -- an extraordinary capacity to love. Love that would, in turn, help him to defeat Voldemort. Not that Harry believed that because he didn't. He sincerely believed that the _power he knew not_ being love was complete and utter rubbish, but as he had no other remarkable powers, he had no other leads on what it could be.

With a snarl, he pushed himself into an upright position and off of the bed. Merlin, but he was going mad trapped in this house, his head so full he thought it might explode at any moment. He stood in front of the window, watching as the rain fell steadily. He thought he saw a shimmer of an invisibility cloak near the bushes. He wondered who was on guard duty today. He could go outside and see, he supposed, but they weren't to reveal themselves so that would be just a spectacular waste of time. An errant strand of hair fell into his face, and he sighed as he pushed it back. His hair was just another thing that had changed over the summer. No longer unruly, it had grown furiously and was now nearing his shoulders. Not only had it grown, but it had darkened, if that were possible, to an almost ebony color. Again, it had him completely baffled. Something strange was going on.

Frustrated, he turned away from the window. If he wanted to know what was happening to him, and he most certainly _did_, he'd have to write to Dumbledore, and since he'd not spoken to the man since blowing up his office, Harry was going to have to start with an apology. With that finally decided, he pulled out a piece of parchment and began writing. He only hoped that Dumbledore had the answers, and, of course, that he would give them to Harry.


	3. Chapter Two

Hmm. I'm not quite happy with this, but I suppose it could be worse. What do you think?

Harry Potter and the Hidden Truth 

By _Koinaka_

In following him, I follow but myself;  
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,  
But seeming so, for my peculiar end;  
For when my outward action doth demonstrate  
The native act and figure of my heart  
In complement extern, 'tis not long after  
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve  
For daws to peck at. I am not what I am.

_Othello Act 1, Scene 1, Line 56-65_

Chapter Three  
Truth often resembles fantasy

The week leading up to his birthday was a relatively uneventful one -- as far as the war front was concerned. In fact, Voldemort seemed suspiciously quiet. Not because he wasn't busy, because he definitely had been, but because he was so fixated on the ring that he was driven to distraction. Because of this, Harry, in turn, thought of nothing else but the ring. He could see it clearly in his mind. It was a rather attractive ring with a black stone. It was the odd-looking triangular symbol on the black stone that Voldemort was fixated on. Harry didn't recognize it at all -- he thought, probably wrongly, that it may have been an Ancient Rune, but he couldn't be certain.

And the pure and unadulterated _rage_ that Voldemort felt about it's loss... it left Harry breathless -- and more than a little happy that anger wasn't directed at_ him_ which Harry had to admit was more than a bit selfish, but who could blame him?

However, even when Harry wasn't dreaming or actively thinking of it, the ring continued to be on his mind. He would find that he had sketched it on the parchment alongside his essays when he'd finish them. Or his letters. Or any bit of parchment Harry put his quill to. It was a bit unnerving, and Harry probably would have been more worried about it if things had not gone downhill as quickly as they had.

The week that began as uneventful was rapidly becoming rather eventful. At Hogwarts, Dumbledore had told him he was to stay with the Dursleys until mid-August, and then he could spend the two weeks prior to the start of term at Headquarters with everyone else. However, after writing to Dumbledore about his changing appearance, he had received a response stating that Dumbledore himself would be collecting Harry on his birthday and would, after a short detour, deposit Harry at the Burrow. Not a word was said about his changing appearance.

Not that Harry was complaining, mind you, because he certainly wasn't. He didn't, after all, want to spend more time than necessary with the Dursley's, but it made him wonder... _why_ had Dumbledore changed his plans so abruptly?

It made the changes he was going through much more unnerving. If Dumbledore felt it urgent enough -- though he hadn't come out and said that, of course, as he hadn't said _anything_ about them -- to remove him from the Dursley's care.... then it must really be something. Harry didn't see how it could not be something though. Just this morning, he had awoken, rather sore, to discover he had grown three inches overnight, and the face that now stared back at him in the mirror while still essentially _him_ was beginning to take on the appearance of a stranger. Well, perhaps not quite a stranger because it did look quite familiar although Harry couldn't be sure who it belonged to. For the most part, he was happy to say, he still looked like himself -- only different.

That hadn't stopped his relatives from noticing. His aunt, at least, had taken to giving him these odd looks whenever he came into any room she occupied and went out of her way to avoid speaking to him. That was why Harry was now actively searching for her. He would be leaving tomorrow, and as unpleasant as informing the Dursleys that wizards would be visiting their home would be, it would be far better than if the wizards in question showed up unannounced.

She was tending her garden when Harry practically cornered her that afternoon. "I'm going to be leaving here in the morning, and I won't be returning before the start of term," he'd told her, quickly, before she could think of an excuse to flee the garden.

Petunia looked torn. On one hand, allowing Harry to leave would make him happy, something the Dursleys were decidedly against. On the other hand, if Harry left... well, Harry would be gone, and that was how his relatives liked him best. In the end, she decided to go with the lesser of two evils. She set her lips into a harsh line and fixed a heated glare on the son of her hated sister. "Fine," she spat out. "But you be sure they collect you in some normal fashion. I'll not have my parlor wrecked again so you can travel through my fireplace!"

The rest of the day was spent cleaning out his trunk and then packing up said trunk. After he'd finished, he sat back down on his bed and munched away on some crisps he'd acquired from the kitchen. It was sort of a tradition of his to wait for the clock to strike midnight. As the anticipated time drew near, however, Harry found himself become more drained, as if he had performed some huge feat of magic. He was fast asleep and in the throes of a vicious vision long before he turned sixteen.

Sometime before dawn, he woke up gasping for breath, pain searing through his body -- it was _gone_. Gone -- _gone_ -- gone! How could it be gone? He let out an anguished cry before falling back against his pillow. He furrowed his brow as his mind -- and the pain -- cleared. What was gone? All he could remember was... a necklace of some sorts. A locket perhaps? He couldn't remember. Whatever it was, it belonged to Voldemort, and he was none too pleased to discover that it was gone.

He sighed as he saw the time. Three a.m. He was now sixteen years old. He blinked several times when he noticed that his glasses were beside his clock -- as they always were. But if they were by his clock, then how could he see the clock so plainly? He'd never been able to before.

Then, he began to notice other things. His hands. His fingers were now long and slender. Not that his hands had been... unnaturally large before, but they were a bit thinner than before. That made him wonder, what _else_ had changed?

He bypassed the pile of presents sitting on his bedside table and stumbled into the bathroom to the mirror. What he saw caused him to let out a half-screech, half-laugh. The face that stared back at him was not his own. In fact, there was nothing there that he recognized as belonging to him. Every ounce of James Potter erased from his person. Even his eyes, his mother's eyes, were gone, replaced instead by obsidian eyes that seemed to mock him. The scream he let out must have screamed rather loud because when he exited the bathroom, his aunt and uncle were in the hallway. His uncle seemed on the verge of exploding, but one look at Harry, and he stopped.

"Do you see it?" Harry asked them frantically, his voice rising shrilly, bordering on hysteria.

Petunia let out a gasp. "What have you done to yourself? You look like... him," she said, horrified.

Harry's breathing began to increase. This was real. He had changed, had been _changing_. Why, why, had his appearance changed? Why did he no longer look like the son of James and Lily Potter? "Who?" whispered Harry, half-afraid to hear the answer.

"That horrible, horrible, Snape boy that used to hang around with your mother before she went off to that school of yours," she said the word as if it was a curse. "I should have known there was something odd about him then. Scrawny little thing, he was. Dark hair, dark eyes, always wearing filthy secondhand clothing. None of the neighbors took kindly to him and his. His father was one of those alcoholics," she finished smugly.

Snape, Snape, Snape, Snape, the word echoed through his head. His mother, Lily, had known Snape before Hogwarts? After viewing the events in Snape's pensieve, Harry knew they were friends in school, but before... and now his aunt seemed certain he looked like him?

Harry ignored his aunt's continued diatribe and went back into the bathroom once more. The same strange face stared back at him in the mirror, but replaying his aunt's words, the face was not so foreign to him. The eyes, those obsidian eyes, had glared at him many a time from the face of the Potions professor. The nose was different to be sure, obviously, but he had the same high cheek bones and bone structure that Snape had. But, no, his aunt must be mistaken. Because he could not look like Snape. He was the son of James and Lily Potter, and as such did not - could not - look like Severus Snape, his hated Potions professor.

There were too many questions and precious few answers, so, numbly, he walked back into his bedroom and penned a letter to Dumbledore telling him that something had happened, and he was to come quick. If he did not come, Harry told him plainly then Harry would just take the Knight Bus _there -- _alone. He gave the letter to Hedwig and told her in no certain terms that she was to deliver that into the hands of the Headmaster, and that she wasn't to leave until he had read it.

That being finished, he sat on the bed and began opening the packages, not really noticing their contents. Until, that is, he came to a small box with no envelope attached. There wasn't a return address either. It simply said his name. He thought momentarily that he really ought not open an unaddressed packed, but his curiosity got the best of him, and it was without much regret at all that he opened the package.

Inside the package was a smaller much more elaborate box. Inside the small box there was a silver ring. It was an odd looking ring to be sure with a strange iridescent stone. There was an elaborate P on one side and a coat of arms on the other. Without thinking, he slipped the ring onto his right hand. The ring sized to his finger automatically, and much to Harry's dismay, could not be removed. No amount of pulling lessened its hold. He discovered, however, that he liked the feel of the ring on his newly elongated fingers. It felt right, somehow -- which considering how _wrong _this situation was was saying something.

Five minutes passed. He was giving Dumbledore an hour before departing for Grimmauld Place himself. Another five minutes passed, and Harry was on his feet, pacing restlessly in front of his window, his eyes searching the night sky desperately for any trace of... well, he wasn't sure _what_ as the Headmaster would likely arrive by port key or apparation. But as the hour deadline drew near, Harry began to feel anxious. Perhaps the professor wasn't coming? Well, it was no matter, Harry wasn't going to spend another hour in this house without know _why_ he looked like Snape. He grasped the handle of his heavy trunk and, with a bit of effort, pulled it down the stairs. He arrived in the living room just in time to hear the doorbell ring.

"I'll get it!" his aunt said in a strained voice, still eyeing him warily, muttering underneath her breath about oddities and that strange Snape boy. Petunia and Vernon had been sitting rigid on the couch, wrapped in their nightclothes, when Harry had entered the room. Now, both stood up, Vernon standing in front of Petunia protectively.

The doorbell rang a second time.

"Well, _someone _get it," snapped Harry.

Petunia fixed a withering glare on him, but she did step around her husband and opened the front door.

Harry was standing stiffly in the middle of the room when Dumbledore entered. He set his eyes on harry and took in a sharp breath before closing his eyes momentarily as if pained. "I had heard... but thought it nothing but mindless gossip..." he murmured almost to himself. "Well, Harry, it seems as if we've a rather large problem." He turned to Petunia, then. "I understand that the hour is quite late, and you all have been through a terrible shock, but I must beg you to allow us to trespass upon your hospitality for a bit longer."

If it was under any other circumstances, there would have been no question as to their answer, but things being what they were, the Dursleys agreed without much resistance at all. Vernon stayed where he sat. His normally red face was red and splotchy. Petunia was never very good at sitting still, so as soon as Dumbledore had made himself quite at home on the sofa, she had fled to the kitchen to make some tea. Dumbledore waited until Harry sat before speaking. He gave Harry a sad smile. "You must have questions," he began, gently.

Harry gave a jerky nod. "Yeah," he said. "Do you know -- I mean... _why_ do I look like Snape?"

"_Professor_ Snape," corrected Dumbledore, more out of habit than anything else, Harry thought, "and I think it would be rather obvious why you look like Professor Snape, if you take a moment to think on it."

Harry flushed. "Oh -- _oh!_" he exclaimed, throwing his hand over his mouth, his mind struggling to process the information.

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, it would appear that your father was not James Potter as we were all lead to believe, but Severus Snape."

Frantic dark eyes met blue. "It would appear," Harry repeated, rather lamely, "You mean, you didn't know, then?" he asked.

"No," said Dumbledore, albeit reluctantly. "My omniscience, Harry, is a common misconception. I had heard... rumors that Severus and your mother were involved... but that was several years before you were born, before she'd married, and as you did look so remarkably like James, I had no reason to think you were anything other than you appeared to be."

Harry furrowed his brow. "But _how_? If James Potter," here Harry's voice cracked a bit, "isn't my father -- how come I looked like him? 'You like just like your father'! How many times have I been told that? How could that have been a _lie_?"

"Magic," Dumbledore said, simply. "What kind exactly we may never know. It is likely that your mother took her secret to the grave with her."

Harry's heart was beating rapidly, and he felt his breath begin to come out in short gasps. Everything he knew had been a _lie_. It was too much -- far too much! First Sirius, then the prophecy, and now _this_. He didn't think he could bear it. Maybe... maybe if it was anyone but Snape. Snape _hated_ Harry -- probably as much as Voldemort did, if not more. He would hate being his father when he found out.

Harry froze. If he didn't _already_ know, that is. "Do you think he knows?" he asked the Headmaster.

Dumbledore frowned. "I do not believe that he would keep something of this magnitude to himself if he knew."

Harry scowled angrily, his dark eyes narrowed. "He would," swore the boy, contemptuously. "Snape hates me, you know he does."

"_Professor _Snape," Dumbledore said, gently, "and I do not believe that he hates you. The two of you... are quite volatile together, I musts admit, but _both_ of you could do better. And... despite how you may feel about him he is a _good_ man, Harry. I do not think him so cruel as to have kept this from you."

Harry sighed. "I don't guess so. He must not have known," he admitted grudgingly.

"I'm afraid, however, that this new development puts us into a rather difficult situation. While there are traces of Lily in you, no traces of Harry Potter remain."

"But I _am_ Harry Potter," said Harry, stupidly.

Dumbledore gave him a smile. "So you are, but you no longer look yourself at all. Had I not been expecting something -- though I must admit, I had not expected _this_ -- I would not have known you at all."

Harry chewed nervously on his bottom lip. "What are we to do, then?"

"I'm afraid we must consult with a dear friend of mine before any decision can be made. I understand that the hour is late -- or early, rather -- but needs must. If you are ready to depart, perhaps you should say farewell to your family?" said the aging wizard, indicating the Dursleys.

Harry blinked. He'd nearly forgotten they were there at all. "Oh, yeah. Bye, then," he told them as he stood.

They muttered their goodbyes, but Harry didn't pay them a bit of attention. He made to grab his trunk, but before he could, Dumbledore shrank it with a flick of his wand. Harry gave him a small smile as he pocketed it. "Thanks."

"Now," said Dumbledore, kindly, "grasp my hand -- the left, if you would -- and we shall be off."

It was then that Harry noticed Dumbledore's _right_ hand. It was blackened and withered. "What happened?" he asked

"Not just yet, Harry. It is a truly captivating tale, and I wish to do it justice. Now, grasp tightly. It wouldn't do to be splinched on top of everything else, now, would it?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "That would be awful," he said. He'd heard of people being splinched before. It didn't sound like something he had any desire to do -- at all.

Just as soon as Harry had grabbed a hold of Dumbledore's good arm, he felt as if he were falling into darkness. Not falling, exactly. It was more like he was being pressed by hundreds of hands until he fit into the tiniest of parcels. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't _see_, he could do nothing. The feeling was gone, then, as if it never had been there at all, and Harry found himself standing, still grasping Dumbledore's arm, in front of a very rundown, very _muggle_ looking home.

Nausea swept over him, and he bent over and heaved into the grass. When he was through, Dumbledore handed him a glass of water he had conjured.

"Apparation, much like using the Floo Network, is something that one must become accustomed to."

Harry grimaced and gave a slight shudder. "I don't think I'll _ever_ become accustomed to it."

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Perhaps not," he agreed. "Come along now. It isn't wise to linger in the darkness." He motioned for Harry to proceed up the walkway. Before Dumbledore could knock, however, the door was thrust open.

Peering back at them, his dark eyes glittering furiously, his greasy hair hanging limply in his face, was Severus Snape. Seeing Dumbledore, his brow furrowed as if confused. The confusion only seemed to increase when his eyes flicked over to where Harry stood.

"Might we come in, Severus? I do hate to call on you at such late an hour, but..." Dumbledore trailed off.

Snape's face smoothed out. "Of course, Headmaster," he murmured, more politely then Harry would have thought possible. He stepped aside so that first Harry and then Dumbledore could enter.

Once the door was closed, Snape murmured a series of incantations while flicking his wand towards the door. Then, he turned back to Harry. He said nothing, but he seemed to be drinking in his appearance. His face, unfortunately, was completely blank, and nothing could be gleaned from it.

He, then, gave Dumbledore an inquiring look. "Perhaps an explanation is in order?" he suggested, one ebony eyebrow raised.

"Ah, Severus, you are right, of course, but I'm afraid that I've none to give. I was hoping _you_ would be so kind as to fill in the blanks for us," said Dumbledore. Behind his half-moon glasses, his blue eyes seemed troubled.

"You are mistaken, Headmaster. I've never seen this boy before in my life," replied Snape.

"But you _have_," Dumbledore interrupted, softly. "If nothing else, surely you see yourself in this boy?"

Snape fixed a withering glare on the Headmaster. "As I am not blind, _yes_, I do realize the boy resembles me slightly," he paused as Dumbledore made a noise of disagreement in the back of his throat, quirking an eyebrow at Snape. Snape sighed. "Very well, he could nearly be my double, but perhaps you could just save me the trouble of guessing his identity. It _is_ quite late and as it was you who brought him here, I've no doubt you know it."

Dumbledore stared pointedly at the lightning-bolt scar that still remained on his forehead. It only took Snape a second to follow Dumbledore's gaze.

He let out a strangled breath. "_Harry Potter_?"


	4. Chapter Three

Alright, alright. I know you guys were probably wondering if I was still alive and well. I suffered a supreme bout of writer's block towards the end of the summer. Nearly all of my fics have half written unfinished chapters that I am slowly trying to finish. I started school three weeks ago, however, and I am taking 18 credit hours (6 classes) of mostly senior level Philosophy and English courses. That being said, I will really attempt to update regularly, but I cannot say for certain. It all depends on if I can keep afloat of the massive reading I find myself force to do weekly.

This is a short chapter, but... well, I hope next time it will be longer.

Harry Potter and the Hidden Truth 

By _Koinaka_

In following him, I follow but myself;  
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,  
But seeming so, for my peculiar end;  
For when my outward action doth demonstrate  
The native act and figure of my heart  
In complement extern, 'tis not long after  
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve  
For daws to peck at. I am not what I am.

_Othello Act 1, Scene 1, Line 56-65_

Chapter Four  
Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire

A tense, heavy silence fell over the dilapidated house following Snape's horrified declaration. Snape's eyes never left Harry's during said silence. In fact, Harry thought that if it were possible to kill someone by merely looking at them Snape definitely would have managed it. Finally, Snape wretched his eyes away from Harry and turned to Dumbledore.

"Now, if we could get to the business at hand, as it were. I assume, Severus, that you were not aware of Harry's true parentage ?" Dumbledore queried, giving Snape a knowing look.

Snape's obsidian eyes narrowed dangerously, and he sneered at Dumbledore before setting his thin lips into a hard, angry line. He let out an angry breath, his nostrils flaring as he did so. "Of course I wasn't aware, Albus!" he snarled.

"I meant no offense, Severus," said Dumbledore, soothingly. He paused for a moment before pressing further. "Do you agree, then, that he is your son?"

"That," said Snape, coldly, "remains to be seen. Harry Potter he may be, but I refuse to even consider the idea that he is my son."

Dumbledore sighed. "Whether you choose to consider it or not, I'm sorry to say, is inconsequential. What we need to ascertain is if is it _possible_? Were you and Lily Potter involved in a sexual relationship near the time when she conceived? Is there, even the remotest possibility that he is, in fact, your son?"

Another silence stretched between them. Harry's heart beat erratically in his chest. Perhaps Snape _wasn't_ his dad, perhaps there was another explanation for his chanted appearance. He hoped so.

Finally, a look of resignation settling onto Snape's face, he responded, with a great deal of effort, "It is possible."

"Good, good," Dumbledore said, "so that's settled."

Here, Snape interrupted the Headmaster, anger etched onto his every feature. "No, it is not settled. I do not know what you hoped to accomplish by coming here tonight, Albus. Even if he is my son, which I still very much doubt, what am I to do about it? You, better than anyone else, know how precarious my position with the Dark Lord is. I can't very well be discovered housing the boy, can I?"

Dumbledore's expression turned cold as did his voice. "You need not tell me the complications this has caused, I am quite aware of them, thank you. Need I remind you what you swore to me all those years ago?"

Snape seemed to deflate before Harry's very eyes before schooling his features into a look of complete disdain, which he, predictably, directed towards Harry for several long moments before turning back to Dumbledore. "What are we to do, then?"

"I think we can all agree that we've a rather large problem. As we do not know, exactly, what sort of charm Lily used to disguise Harry's true appearance, we cannot possibly hope to recast it. However, I'm also afraid that Severus is quite right. His position is, indeed, precarious, and should it be discovered that he is housing the Boy-Who-Lived, or even that he _fathered_ the Boy-Who-Lived, both of your lives may very well be forfeit. Remember the prophecy, Harry? _Born to those who have thriced defied him..._I think we all know that Lord Voldemort does not tolerate treachery."

Harry's breath came out in a _whoosh_. "Alright," he said, shakily. "So, what do we do then? I mean, there's only a month until school starts. We'll have _something_ figured out before then, right?"

Snape sneered at him. "You can't possibly think you will be allowed to attend Hogwarts as you are now."

Harry returned the sneer. "Well, what else will do expect me to do? I can't go back to the Dursleys, they won't allow it! Even if they did -- which they _won't_ -- I've got to finish up my education, don't I? So, I've got to go back to Hogwarts."

No one said nothing for several long seconds. Harry's look turned horrified. "_Don't I_?" he asked Dumbledore.

And still, Dumbledore said nothing.

"Might I suggest, Headmaster, that he be withdrawn from school completely. I expect he could keep Lupin company in Grimmauld Place," Snape suggested silkily.

Immediately, Harry bristled. "_Oh,_ you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he snarled, his hands clenching tightly into fists. "Me trapped in the very same house that..." But Harry could not even finish the sentence. "I won't do it," he swore, instead. "I didn't ask for any of this to happen! Why should I be punished for something that I didn't even have any control of!"

"And you think _I_ asked for this to happen?" asked Snape, his voice soft and dangerous.

Dumbledore finally seen fit to intervene. "Whether you asked for it to happen is irrelevant. Harry is your son --"

"Much to my utter dismay, I assure you," Snape interjected smoothly.

Harry felt his anger increasing. "You think this makes me happy?" he snapped at Snape.

"Not everything is about you, you insufferable child!"

Harry scoffed. "Except that it's my life that has been turned upside down, it's my appearance that has changed entirely, and it's me who is going to have to explain to my friends that my entire life has been a lie!"

"Enough!" bellowed Dumbledore loudly. "_Enough_."

Both Snape and Harry fell silent at once.

Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking his age more than ever. "I had hoped that, considering the state of things, the two of you would be able to set aside your differences. I can see that I was wrong. As much as I would like to disagree, Harry, we must at least _consider_ Severus's idea."

Harry, horrified, gasped. "_No_, you can't possibly -- I won't! I won't do it."

"You will do as the Headmaster says, you foolish boy!" snarled Snape.

Harry let out a bitter laugh. "And what makes you think you've got any right to order me around? You said yourself you don't want to be my dad, which is fine by me because I don't want _you_ to be my dad, I'd much rather continue thinking that James Potter was my father. He's three times the man you'll ever be. It's no wonder my mum never told you, she was probably ashamed. But you know what? I reckon he probably knew I wasn't his son, and he still gave his life for me."

A murderous look appeared on Snape's face. Harry thought that he'd never seen the man look so unhinged before. The next noise heard was the resounding slap as the palm of Snape's hand met with the side of Harry's face.

Never - ever - had Harry been struck in anger by an adult. The Dursleys - beasts though they were - had never even dared to strike him. Oh, they'd starved him and tormented him alright, and allowed Dudley to punch on Harry whenever he wanted, but never had they struck him.

"Muggle techniques? Voldemort would be so disappointed," said Harry, coldly, his hand going up to automatically cup his cheek. He'd bitten his tongue as well, and could now taste the blood in his mouth. "Why don't you curse me, then? Or are you too much of a coward? Better yet, take me to Voldemort. Surely delivering the Boy-Who-Lived to him would secure your place in his inner circle, and that is what you want, isn't it?"

Snape hadn't moved since he'd struck Harry, but he at least had the grace to look somewhat abashed. "I would never," stuttered the normally composed man. "Lily..."

Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh and stood. "I can see that this is a lost cause. Come along, Harry. I believe the Weasleys are awaiting your arrival."

Harry gaped. "I can't go there -- _look at me_. What am I supposed to say?"

"The truth," said Dumbledore simply. He placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and lead him towards the door, but they never made it to the door.

"Don't!" was the strangled protest Snape gave. He still looked slightly unhinged, but he appeared to be calming, his face smoothing out as he did. "He'll stay here, of course," he said, in a clipped tone. "Until we can determine a better solution."

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Now, it is still rather early, and Mr. Potter here has had a terrible shock. Why don't you show him to a bedroom so that he may get some rest? I fear that the coming days are going to be tremulous for the both of you."

Harry wanted to disagree, but he could feel exhaustion begin to creep up on him, threatening to pull him under where he stood. Snape gave Dumbledore a curt nod and, with nary an insult, showed Harry to a rather decent looking room upstairs. The bed was small and a bit stiffer than the beds at Hogwarts, but that didn't seem to matter. He was asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

His sleep, however, was anything but restful. His dreams are so disturbing that he would almost prefer for the visions or even the nightmares. It took several minutes of deep breathing before he was calm enough to even attempt thinking about the dream.

_A heavy sort of darkness that no artificial sort of light can penetrate encompassed the room he was in. Only, at second glance, it wasn't quite so impenetrable. The thinnest shiver of moonlight cast a silvery line across the room, but still Harry could not see his lover's face. The darkness didn't bother him, however. Just the opposite, in fact. His lack of sight made all of his other senses keener. The soft breaths and moans coming from both him and his lover sound thunderous to his ears. The silk sliding soft and cold against his overheated skin is almost unbearable.  
_

_"It won't be long now," murmured the man above him, his lover. His breath against Harry's ears sent shivers down the Boy-Who-Lived's body. "I'm coming for you," the words were a warning, that much was apparent, but it wass a warning that Harry would not listen to, does not __want to listen to.  
_

_Harry wanted him to come, wanted this, always this, nothing but this. He tried to say as much as they started to move together, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a needy moan. And then there are lips trailing kisses down his neck, stopping only to sink his teeth into the ivory skin. The same lips smirked against his heated skin as he arched into his touch, and his lover possessively declared, "You are mine." _

_To Harry, nothing has ever been truer. _

Before Harry could contemplate the dream further, he heard a resounding thud against what he assumed to be the front door. Then, there was a loud squeaking as the door opened. He knew he ought to stay put. He _did_, but he couldn't help but think that any visitor Snape might be getting would only be up to no good. Better that he know ahead of time what to expect, really, or so he told himself as he carefully opened the door and stuck to the top of the staircase.

What, or rather _who_, he heard caused his blood to run cold.

"Snape," said the sharp voice below.

There was a momentary pause before Snape confirmed the voice's identity. "Bellatrix."


	5. AN

Hey everyone!

Updates have been ridiculously slow in coming, I know. I've no excuse other than school and a general lack of motivation. However, a break from school, work, and writing has given me a much needed push to finish things up. The only problem being that I have far too many fics. I cannot possibly update them all with any regularity once school commences next week. So, what I have decided to do is take a vote. The two fics garnering the highest votes will be the ones updated weekly until they are finished. I also will be making thorough outlines (something I have not done in the past) for the other fics. I am not abandoning any fic, so you need not worry! :D I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and a lovely New Year.

_~ Koinaka_

Feel free to pm me with any questions you may have.


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